


of clowns and hypocrisy

by orphan_account



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: (he's bound to have issues), (jerome was literally defaced and stabbed in the throat), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood, Blood and Injury, Codenames, Drabble Collection, Drabble Sequence, Everyone Is Gay, Future Fic, Injury, Jeremiah Valeska is Joker (DCU), Jerome Valeska Lives, Mild Blood, Nicknames, No Incest, No Smut, POV Jeremiah Valeska, POV Jerome Valeska, POV Third Person, POV Third Person Limited, Permanent Injury, Post-Gotham (TV), Sibling Rivalry, Very little actual plot, Villains, also uhhh:, as in it takes place during/after the finale timeskip, bc his codename tm is harlequin, bc i said so xoxo, bc they're siblings and that'd be gross, but without being the joker's gf, i think???, jerome is called harley a lot, jerome is the equivalent of harley quinn, they don't always get along well bvhcjbvhcuj
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:54:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22746607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: After his last unfortunate run-in with his homicidal brother, Jeremiah Valeska blows up half the city, gets himself a partner in crime, exercises a little obsession for Bruce Wayne, and eventually adopts the mantle of The Joker.But this time around, he isn't alone.Y'see, in this little canon-ignoring timeline-fucking elseworld adventure, Jerome Valeska survives his little encounter with Jim Gordon, and works by his brother's side, going by the code-name Harlequin. After all, two heads are better than one, and with both Valeskas together, they're twice as likely to capture the Batman.Or just get on each other's nerves a lot. Y'know. Potayto potahto.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	of clowns and hypocrisy

**Author's Note:**

> BASICALLY I'M STILL MAD JEROME DIED AFTER HAVING SO MUCH POTENTIAL AND I RLLY LOVE THE IDEA OF HARLEY!JEROME
> 
> obviously there's no jarley to be seen here bc They're Brothers and incest is nasty
> 
> jerome is referred to as "(the) harlequin" or occasionally "harley" for short (or, yknow, "jerome".)  
> jeremiah is referred to as "(the) joker" (or "(jere)miah", obviously.)  
> neither of them are meant to act like the usual interpretations of harley or joker; i'm basing their characterisation on the show alone, alongside some headcanons.
> 
> jeremiah's personality is taken from late s4/early s5; jerome's is a mix of s2 and s3.  
> their age is approximated (i took roughly what i think they'd be in s4 and added 10 years)
> 
> sorry if this is just totally wacky, it's 2am and i have a headache lmao--

“Harley.”

The Harlequin pauses, one hand holding a key up to a locked door, the other tapping against the knife tucked into his waistband. A beat passes, and he turns in one swift, fluid motion, smile stiff and sharp, like a warning.

Ecco looks smaller in the night, her dark clothes blending into the shadows of the alleyway, but no less intimidating. Her weapon is brandished visibly, and her intentions are written clearly in her expression, tight and stoic, as always.

He sighs, deflates, twirls the key around his finger. “What’s he want this time, doll?”

Ecco doesn’t so much as blink. “You know what he wants, Harley.” A beat. Harlequin raises his eyebrow. “He wants you to come home, and stop acting like a child.”

His laugh sounds more like a choke than anything, raspy and ruined from one too many knives to the throat and a couple too many inhalations of his own toxin. His smile is still strained, but the way it widens almost feels natural, stretching his scars and distorting his face-paint. “Hypocrite. Ah well, doll,” his fingers wrap securely around his knife’s handle. He tucks the key back into his coat’s pocket. “Yer gonna have to drag me back _kickin’ and screaming.”_

* * *

The Joker doesn’t so much as flinch as his twin is thrust towards him, still scowling and yapping like a rabid dog, collapsed on the ground. He sighs, leans back in his chair, folds his hands in his lap.

“How many times are you going to do this, Jerome?” His voice is calm, stern. Harlequin snarls, rolling to his stomach and crawling to his knees, rubbing at a tender-looking bruise that’s slowly forming on the side of his face. “We’re _thirty-one._ We can have disagreements without you going off and _stropping_ like a child.”

Jerome rises slowly, scowl crudely turned into a smile by the curve of his scars. The black diamonds painted around his eyes were smudged in the struggle, leaving two shapeless blobs around them instead, like little black holes.

“Fuck you too, Miah,” he spits, and slinks dejectedly into his room, closing the door with a meaningful slam. Jeremiah sighs, sinks further into his chair, and closes his eyes.

* * *

“Nice of you to join me, brother.”

Jerome jumps, swivels on his heels - Jeremiah’s lips are quirked very slightly into a smile. He’s staring wistfully out of the tiny porthole they pretend qualifies as a window, and he looks a mess - his lip is split, and a mixture of blood and lipstick is smeared across his chin and cheek, rivalled perhaps only by the throbbing bruise around his left eye. His brother wheezes out a halfhearted laugh, snatching the vodka bottle from his hand and taking a swig.

“You look like shit, _princey,”_ he mocks, grinning. Jeremiah’s smile twitches minutely into a frown, until his gaze meets his brother’s, and his eyebrows raise.

_“Hypocrisy at it’s finest,_ Jerome.”

The Harlequin looks away, gnawing at his lip. The familiar throb of a freshly-opened scar is pulsing across his forehead, and another at his cheekbone, right under his eye. He doesn’t need to see himself to know his face is stained crimson. He sniffs, takes another swig, and thrusts the bottle back into his brother’s hands.

“Yeah, well. Couldn’t leave all the fun to you.” A pause. “Got a reputation to uphold.”

“As what? The city’s favourite punching bag?” Jeremiah’s sips are small and delicate, nothing like his brother’s overzealous chugging. Jerome flinches. “Melee was never your strong suit, Jerome. You know that. If you must make a point, do something you’re actually _good at._ Make a scene.”

Jerome scoffs out a laugh, rises to his feet. “Oh, _fuck off,_ Miah,” he smiles, venomous. “I was tearing this city up _years_ before you ditched the good-boy act. I know what I’m doing.”

With nothing more, he leaves.


End file.
